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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221937">Before The Eyes Of Storytelling Girls</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zartbitterpoetin/pseuds/Zartbitterpoetin'>Zartbitterpoetin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What The Water Gave Me [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunger Games Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Annie Cresta-centric, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Healing, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, Recovery, Storytelling, Trauma, well except the epilogue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:41:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zartbitterpoetin/pseuds/Zartbitterpoetin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories told by Annie Cresta (with occasional additions by Johanna Mason). </p><p>Or;</p><p>After the war, Johanna comes to live with Annie in Four.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annie Cresta &amp; Johanna Mason, past Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What The Water Gave Me [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1440973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Before The Eyes Of Storytelling Girls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, this is the last part of "What The Water Gave Me". There is a lot of stuff I cut out, maybe i will do something with it later. But this series is definitely finished now!<br/>Maybe you'll recognize some of the stories. I was inspired by two German fairy tales, the Selkies from Ireland, and a story by Bertolt Brecht ( I pretty much translated that one word by word).<br/>I hope you'll like this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>You think in loops and loops and loops about what could have been, how you could have been happy together, happy forever, happy always. How he and you could have died a thousand different ways or lived and still died under bright neon lights. There wasn’t even a body for you to bury, only this new body to carry. And you think and think until it all blurs together and swallows you whole.</p><p> </p><p>A knock on the door and you don’t get up. Sally will come in eventually, she always does, because she still has the spare key. The door doesn’t open.</p><p>Another knock, louder and followed by muffled cursing. You don’t understand the words, but you recognize the voice immediately. For some reason Johanna Mason is standing outside your house. “Open the door, I know you’re in there!” Johanna shouts. She bangs on the door like she’s mad (hah.) and with a sigh you get up. Open the door.</p><p>Johanna Mason is standing there, her hair messy, dark shadows under her eyes. She still carries herself with that false confidence you remember from so long ago.</p><p>After a few moments of awkward silence, you ask what she is doing here. She stares at you, as if the mere question is inconceivable to her.</p><p>“What does it look like?”, she says and only then you notice the two suitcases she brought with her. You take a step back to let her in and close the door behind her, carefully, so she won’t startle.</p><p>“How long do you want to stay?” you ask, while Johanna is looking around, inspecting the interior. “Where can I put my things?” she asks, without answering your question.</p><p>“The guest room.” She nods and goes upstairs. You sit down, booth to sooth your aching ankles and your swirling thoughts.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You are glad that Johanna is here, the house feels too big for you alone. It is filled with ghosts and sometimes it feels like you are one too, drifting somewhere between life and death. Feels like drowning, only that you have given up the struggle. Let the water take you. Let the water bring you to him. But then you remember the new life you are carrying, and now Johanna.</p><p>You haven’t spoken to her since – since the end of the war and you wonder if she came because of him or because of you. Probably both.</p><p>Johanna is so brave, you think, and she doesn’t even know. The house isn’t too far away from the ocean, close enough to hear the waves, close enough to be in her nightmares. (You will have to get used to the screams again.)  </p><p>But Johanna came anyway. You don’t know when she’ll leave again, and you suspect that she doesn’t know either. Although she is used to ghosts in her home, the air may be too different here, and Johanna is a fickle bird, always has been. Maybe when you wake tomorrow, she’ll be gone already. You don’t know what to think of that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the afternoon, you take her to the market and to the Odairs, to eat dinner there. That’s something you did before the war too, sometimes. You and Johanna buy some vegetables, fish, bread and chat with some folk.</p><p>Well, it’s mostly you making awkward conversation while Johanna glares at everyone, but still. The Odairs have a big house, not to far from the shore, but you take a route that isn’t close to the water. Johanna seems grateful.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sally really makes the best fish stew in the whole District and everyone who disagrees should be prepared to either keep it to themselves or be glared to death by Sally.</p><p>Johanna takes one bite of the stew, shrugs and says: “It’s okay. I’ve had worse.” You can’t hold back a laugh that you quickly tarn as a cough and then quickly assure Sally that this is a compliment, coming from Johanna. They try to do a bit of small talk, which Johanna shoots down spectacularly. Still, after a while they have a nice conversation going and you feel at ease, with little Patrik running around the room and Sally talking about her students.</p><p>You don’t stay long – you get exhausted so easily these days, and Johanna is looking overwhelmed as well.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“What do you think of them?” you ask, as you walk home. “They are… nice, I guess.” Johanna pauses. “But they don’t get it.”</p><p>“No, they don’t,” you agree. “They never understood him either.”</p><p>You take off your shoes, to feel the grass on your bare feet and for a small moment, you are glad that you are alive.</p><p>“But they try and that isn’t always good enough but it’s worth a lot.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You get home, get ready for bed and you whisper a soft goodnight to Johanna before closing the door to the (her) room. In the night you hear her nightmares and in the morning, you expect her to be gone.</p><p>When you get downstairs, you are greeted with a grin and scrambled eggs and a warm feeling in your chest. You think that this will not last, because this is some sort of happiness and you don’t get that. Not in this world. But something in you whispers <em>but you won the war. This is a new world. </em></p><p>And to your surprise, the looping thoughts stay in the background and you stay right there, in the present, with Johanna.</p><p> </p><p>A week goes by and Johanna does not leave.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>While the world around you begins to heal, you do what you’ve always done – you tell stories. You mend nets and weave, because that is what storytellers do, what Mags taught you.</p><p>You mend and weave and teach, only that teaching was never a strength of yours. He was a good teacher, when he was here, with patient voice and hands and the thoughts start again. Flashes of the past, of your childhood, of drowning, of him, him, him. There is blood everywhere, choking you, drowning you. The taste of iron is overwhelming, and you think you might be crying. Eventually, soft hands on your shoulders guide you back. But all you can think is <em>these aren’t his hands. This isn’t his voice.</em></p><p>The Victor’s village is located in Juvia, not so far from where your childhood house once stood. The empty houses have been taken over by other people and you like that the village is louder, and vibrant with life. It’s becoming just another part of Juvia, and of Four.</p><p>You don’ spend much time inside, instead working outside, in the garden, faced towards the main square and the sea. Most people here know you, so they come on their breaks to listen to your stories and you gladly provide.</p><p>It makes you feel less lonely, and they don’t judge you if your thoughts or the memories overwhelm you, they just guide you back. Also, sometimes they bring little gifts, trinkets and shells and stuff like that.</p><p>Maybe they feel pity or maybe they just really like your stories. You would be glad for both.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A fish trawlers captain, called James, who lived not far from here went out every day, from sunrise to dawn, to catch fish with his crew. One day, when the ocean was very blue and clear and beautiful, they heaved up the nets, heavier than usual, promising a good catch. But when the net came into view, there wasn’t a single fish in the net. Instead, there was a great shark, bigger than anything the crew had ever seen. </em>
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  <em>His crew cried out in fear, urging the captain to kill the beast, but even though the big animal looked dangerous, his eyes were so very human, that the fisher could not bring himself to kill the shark. With his big knife he cut through the net, rescuing the shark, to the dismay of his crew.</em>
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  <em>But the shark began to speak: “I am an ancient one of the sea and thank you for having saved me. I am now in your debt. Whenever you need my help, just come here again and call for me.”</em>
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  <em>Captain James was happy about his good deed and though he didn’t catch anything else that day, he was satisfied, for he had both met and saved one of the ancient ones. His crew was content as well, though they worried because they hadn’t caught anything else this day and the inspector wouldn’t be happy about it. </em>
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  <em>When they came home and the peacekeeper inspector saw that they had nothing, he became very angry. But Captain James, the brave Captain, stepped in front of his crew and told of the encounter. At first, the peacekeeper didn’t believe him, because he didn’t believe in things the Capitol couldn’t control. </em>
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  <em>He laughed mockingly and said: ““Well, if that’s true why didn’t you ask the shark for anything? I order you to go back and ask for a nice house for myself! Unless you lied after all, in which case I will have you hanged and your men wipped.”</em>
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  <em>So, the fisher went back out the next day with his crew, to the same spot. But the sea wasn’t clear or blue anymore, though it was still peaceful. To the green sea, Captain James called for the shark, which came fast.</em>
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  <em>“What can I do for you, fisher?” he asked. “Our inspector wants me to prove that we really met you and wants me to wish for a nice house for him.” “Go back to him, he already has it,” the ancient one said, and it was true: When the crew returned, the peacekeeper had a nice house, like the ones at the tourist beaches.  The inspector was satisfied, and even paid the crew a bit more money than usual, but his happiness didn’t last long. </em>
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  <em>Just one week later, he called the Captain to him. “The house is well and good, but I want to be the mayor too! Go back to the shark and fulfill my wish, or I will hang you and punish your men!”</em>
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  <em>So, the Crew went back to the same spot, and the water was green and dark, and waves were rocking the boat. Captain James called for the shark with despair and explained the situation to him. “Don’t worry,” said the shark. “Go back to him, and he will already be Mayor.”</em>
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  <em>And it was true, and the inspector was satisfied for a week, sitting in his big house and ruling over the district. But then he began to grow dissatisfied again and called the captain to him. </em>
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  <em>“Now Captain, you and your shark seem to be capable of many great things! I want you to ask him to make me Minister and give me a hundred personal servants.”</em>
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  <em>So, the Crew went back to the same spot, and the water was black and grey and sickly, and a wind was howling like cries. Through the howling wind, the Captain called for the shark, and explained to him the situation, ashamed and afraid. “Don’t worry,” said the shark. “His wish has already been fulfilled.”</em>
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  <em>And it was true, for when the crew went back, they could already see the big mansion with hundreds of servants working hard and the inspector was satisfied – for a while. But like before, the inspector grew dissatisfied. His voice dripping with cruelty and greed, he called the captain again. “So, Captain,” he said, putting an arm around the trembling James. “Being a Minister is nice, and having all these servants is good too, but I’m sure your shark can do even more. Go back and ask him to make me president!” </em>
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  <em>And thus, the crew went out again, under a dark sky, mirroring the dark waters below, boiling and whispering threats. The captain James called for the shark, pleading on his knees, ashamed of his numerous requests. The shark came and gently said to the Captain: “Don’t worry, his wish has already been fulfilled.”</em>
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  <em>And it was true. When the crew returned, the inspector was now president of the whole country. And for a week he was satisfied, commanding and controlling everyone. But when he looked up at the sky, the sun and moon were still rising and falling on their own, and when he looked at the people, he still could not control their minds, and he simply couldn’t stand that. So, he called the captain again and said to him: “I want to control everything, want to have more power than any other human can have. Make it come true!” And though he did not speak any threats, Captain James knew they were there and obeyed.</em>
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  <em>The sea was so dark, it was as if the ocean had swallowed the whole night, killing the stars within. There was a mighty storm, with lightning and thunder, and waves as big as towers, as mountains even. Still, the crew wanted to go with their Captain. But Captain James, the brave Captain, took his smallest ship, a flimsy, old thing and set out to find the shark, alone. Soon, he couldn’t see the shore anymore, and the storm was roaring louder and louder. His boat was sailing straight ahead into a hurricane, but where he should have been taken by the winds and waters, he instead found himself in the eye of the storm, in peace and silence. He knew that this somehow, was the right place, and called for the shark, who emerged immediately and listened closely to the Captain. “He wants to have everything, have more power than any human can ever have, and I don’t know what to do!”, cried out the Captain. The shark was silent for a long time. Then he said: “Don’t worry. I have taken care of it.”</em>
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  <em>And it was true, for when Captain James returned, on an ocean that had suddenly become peaceful and blue and still again, his cheering crew was already waiting for him at the shore. Eagerly, they explained to him how the inspector had suddenly vanished and how they didn’t have to worry anymore and thus they sang and danced the whole night through. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“The Captain and the Inspector” is one of the more popular tales, and so it is not unsurprising that it is the first one Johanna hears. What is surprising, at least to you, is her interest in the other stories.</p><p>“Will you tell me another one?” Johanna asks.</p><p>“If you tell me one in turn,” you say.</p><p>“Once upon a time, there was a hound, who was shot and never found. Finished, yeah, great morale, many feelings. Will you tell me a story now?” Johanna grins at you, unapologetic, and sharp, and with a smile like a shark.</p><p>You shake your head, with a soft smile on your lips. “Come here,” you say. “I’ll show you how to mend this net.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You know, sometimes I still don’t get why the fuck Four was like that,” Johanna says.</p><p>“Like what?” you reply.</p><p>"Well, boot-licking, obedient servants to the Capitol. You weren’t rich and you suffered under the Capitol, but still you played the docile pet for them. You invited them to your beaches and trained your children for their games. Why?”</p><p>There are many things you could say in response to that: How you didn’t really invite anyone, or how it was less training and more preparing your children for every obstacle they could potentially face, but that isn’t exactly the point here and so you decide to answer with a story instead.</p><p>“Mags explained it to me once,” you say. “I will tell you this story how I remember it.”</p><p>For a moment it looks like Johanna wants to interrupt, but something in your expression must stop her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Once, the storyteller Sara told her listeners and students a forbidden story, where she spoke out against The Authority. Suddenly, she noticed everyone around her tensing up, whispering and backing away. She looked around and saw them standing behind her – The Authority. “What did you say?”, asked The Authority. “I spoke in favor of The Authority,” answered Sara and joined her students in their hiding. The students asked her about her backbone. Sara answered: “I have no backbone they can destroy. I have to outlive the Authority.” And then she told them a story:</em>
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  <em>Worker Manje, who knew how to say no, was one day visited by an agent. The agent was one of those controlling the city and he had a permit, which he presented to Manje. The permit said that every house he stepped foot in should belong to him, and that every food he wanted, should belong to him as well, and that every man he saw should serve him. </em>
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  <em>The agent walked through the door, sat down, demanded food, washed himself and went to sleep. Faced towards the wall he asked Manje, shortly before falling asleep: “Will you serve me?” </em>
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  <em>And Manje watched over the agent’s sleep, cooked his food, washed his body and obeyed the Agent four long years. But whatever he did, he never said a word. After the four years, the Agent died. He had grown sick from his wealth and his ordering. Then, Worker Manje wrapped him in the tainted blanket, dragged him outside the house, cleaned the rooms, scrubbed the walls, breathed in deep and answered: “No.”</em>
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</p><p>For a short moment, you let the story ring out.</p><p>“But the worker <em>did </em>serve him!” Johanna protests. “It doesn’t mean anything that he didn’t agree vocally, he obeyed in every other way!”</p><p>“But what would have been the alternative? In the end, he lived longer than the Agent. In the end, the storyteller will outlive the authority. And we survived the Capitol, didn’t we?”</p><p>But Johanna stands up, anger in her eyes, mouth twisting. “But not everyone did! My family did not survive! Finnick didn’t survive!”</p><p>You don’t flinch, even though it is the first time Johanna mentions him openly.</p><p>“But had we not pretended and obeyed, we wouldn’t have been in the position to face the Capitol strongly,” you argue calmly. You understand her, you do, you just don’t think she is right.</p><p>“Oh, so every politician, every peacekeeper, every gamemaker, they were just secretly resisting?” Johanna’s voice is sharp and biting, but you don’t let yourself get hurt.</p><p>“No. That’s not what I was saying–“</p><p>“Really? Because it sounds like it. It sounds like you are excusing what they did!”</p><p>“Johanna, let me–“</p><p>“No, what the fuck– what, what is <em>wrong </em>with you?!” She is screaming at you now, pointing her finger at you in accusation.</p><p>“If you’ll just let me explain–“</p><p>“What’s there to explain? You’re crazy,” she says, and you freeze up. “Fuck you, you and your stories!”</p><p>“Shut up,” you say and she looks at you, really looks at you for the first time since you told the story, and only now you see the tears in her eyes.</p><p>“This story is only meant for the powerless, those whose bodies don’t belong to themselves or those who are faced with a direct threat,” you say, steel in your voice.</p><p>“The storyteller speaks out against The Authority as long as she isn’t directly threatened by it and the worker has no choice but to obey and still finds a way to resist.” Johanna sits down again, with trembling limbs.</p><p>“These stories don’t belong to them. They belong to us. To me.”</p><p>“… I still don’t agree.”</p><p>You sigh. “You don’t have to, Jo.”</p><p>Johanna is silent for a long time.</p><p>“But I might understand better now,” she says finally, a peace-offering. You take it. You don’t have the strength for anger, you only have darkness and the looping, flashing, overwhelming thoughts.</p><p>“Aren’t you angry though?” Jo asks and you don’t answer.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After some weeks, you walk along the shore for the first time, and Johanna looks out at the sea, with fear written plainly on her face. “It’s alright,” you assure her. “We won’t get closer, if you don’t want to.”</p><p>Johanna doesn’t say anything, just nods in gratitude. And while you continue walking, you hear the waves crashing, and hear them echoing across your memories, mixing with Johanna’s screams. She is not screaming here, you can see her, or maybe she is screaming after all, and you just don’t notice.</p><p>“Will you tell me a story?” she asks. “A story for a story,” you say, smiling. Jo scowls and frowns. For a small moment she is silent. “Fine,” she says, to your surprise.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Okay, there is this story in Seven, about a little orphan girl. I don’t know what happened to her parents, doesn’t matter. So, this little orphan is very poor, like dirt-poor, she doesn’t have a bed or a house, only the clothes on her skin and a piece of bread, for some reason.</em>
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  <em> And one day, as she is walking alone in the forest, she meets an old man. The man is very hungry, and asks her for the bread, and because apparently, she is very stupid, she gives it to him. And then next, she meets a little boy, who is very cold, and he asks her for a warm jacket, and she gives hers to him. </em>
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  <em>And it goes on like that, three other children come and ask her for clothes, and she gives her trousers and her shirt, and finally her underwear. And then she stands there, naked in the cold night, shivering and half-dead until suddenly, the stars fall from the sky. </em>
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  <em>But, here’s the thing, they turn into diamonds and cut her skin, but they are also worth more than anyone in Seven has, so the girl gathers the diamonds, and naked and bloody she sells them and is rich for the rest of her entire life. The End.</em>
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</p><p>“That was a good story,” you say and hug her, though it isn’t as easy with your huge belly. “Your turn now,” Johanna grumbles, and melts into your hug. You laugh, and then start talking</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That’s how it goes for a while. You and Johanna trade stories, and Johanna, although she wouldn’t admit it, is a decent storyteller. You sell your tapestries and Johanna helps mending and making the nets, although you both don’t need the money.</p><p>And just like that, Johanna grows into your life, with her sharp edges and with long talks late at night. It also helps that she is a good cook – honestly, her pancakes are the best. You and Johanna still hear each other scream at night, and sometimes you go over to her room, and sometimes she comes to you, and sometimes you both stay where you are, paralyzed by fear and something else you can’t quite name.</p><p>You have quite mornings together and busy afternoons and Johanna annoys you until you are mad and she cackles, and then you get your revenge through ignoring her until she apologizes with a very delicious dinner. You don’t talk about the past, about the nightmares, about your <em>turningmemoriesthoughts</em>, about her scars and fears. You just keep living. You know that you will have to talk about this eventually but you’re afraid of how Johanna will react. And so, two months pass.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And then, your son makes his way into the world, screaming and kicking and you think <em>good,</em> <em>he’s a fighter. </em>Johanna holds him first, staring at him with wonder and something like fear, before she quickly gives him to you, making Sally and the midwife laugh. Your son looks red and kind of ugly, with eyes that look like the eyes of every other baby in Four.</p><p>The next weeks are hard. Everything is too much, more so than usual. One time you yell at Johanna that you would gladly exchange her for Finnick, but she doesn’t leave, just stays and hugs your body wrecked by sobs. She also cares for your son, more than you do in this first month.</p><p>You know that all these overwhelming feelings are normal, scientifically, but it’s still annoying, makes your thoughts and nightmares worse. You talk with your therapist about it, and that helps too. You know that one of the reasons Johanna ran away from Seven (because that’s what happened, you’re sure) is that she refused to speak to a therapist, even after the new government had send her several options.</p><p>But unlike Katniss, who you know has to talk to her therapist as part of her probation, they couldn’t exactly force Johanna. You think it would be good for her, but she must want it for herself. And then you go back to crying over a broken plate or the cute baby birds in your backyard.</p><p>Fortunately (for you, and everyone who has to interact with you) you soon return to your normal state of sadness, grief and emotional devastation. Lucky you.</p><p>Your son is an easy child, calm and not fussy, and you start actually liking him after three weeks, even though he has not received his name yet. You start taking on more and more tasks again as your body recovers from the birth and you are glad for the support you receive – from Sally and the other Odairs, but mostly from Jo.</p><p>You’ve always been good with most children, but you didn’t really think you were ready for the responsibility. It helps that you don’t have to do this alone. Soon, life settles around you again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You name your son two months after the birth, not too unusual in Four. For that, you take him to the sea, while Johanna stays at home. It’s her that suggests the name though: James.</p><p>It is a good name, a proper one, a brave one. You thought of naming him after Finnick, but the name still makes you ache, and you don’t want the name hanging over his head. Your son will grow up with enough ghosts as it is. Normally a mother or grandmother would join you, but Mags is dead and you try not to dwell on that fact too long.</p><p>So, you wade into the water, waves crashing against your legs, take some seawater in your palm and baptize your son.</p><p>Life goes on and James grows bigger and older, gets his first tooth, and starts crawling, starts babbling and laughing. You often take him with you while you work outside, and at night you are not longer only woken by Johannas screams but also by James cries. It really isn’t that much of a change, the little human in your life.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>There once lived a poor fisherwoman by the name of Sara. Her parents had been poor, before they had been taken by the sea, and her children and their children would be poor as well, she knew. She had fallen in love with another fisher, had married him on a lovely summer day. She couldn’t have known about the shouting, or the cheating, or the bruises that would follow soon.</em>
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  <em> One day, as she walked along the beach, trying to collect shells she could sell later, she saw something glistening in the water. The wind carried a haunting but beautiful melody to her, sung by a high and soft, entirely inhuman voice. It was then that she encountered the source of the song: a young, naked woman swimming towards her, clutching something to her chest. </em>
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  <em>“Help!” the woman called out, and the word ringing clear even above the crashing waves, sounded like the most beautiful orchestra and like one of the warning sirens. It almost shattered her eardrums, just from the intensity of it.  </em>
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  <em>And again: “Please, help me!” And Sara, without a second thought, ran towards the waves and the woman until she could gather her in her arms. Only now Sara saw that there wasn’t any white in the eyes of the woman. They were just black, iris and eyeball, and looking into them was like staring into the night sky. And the skin she was touching didn’t feel like human skin either, much to smooth for that. </em>
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  <em>Sara knew now that the strange woman had to be a child of the sea, a seal-person. Before she could say anything to the strange woman, however, she saw a hunter boat approaching fast, with harpoons out. </em>
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  <em>Quickly, Sara ushered the stranger behind one of the big rocks. “Good woman, have you seen a seal, a big one, a mighty one, coming this way?” And because Sara hadn’t seen a seal, and because she had never heard anything as beautiful as the stranger’s song, she answered: “I’m afraid I’ve seen nothing like that.” </em>
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  <em>And the hunters went away, and Sara and the stranger looked at each other. The strange woman was clutching a piece of cloth, a coat, to her chest. “Come home with me?”, asked Sara and the strange woman nodded. </em>
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  <em>“Osheira,” she offered her name, and her voice sounded like wailing winds and singing waves and seven divine harmonies. Sara had lied a bit, for the house was not really her home but it was the closest thing she had to one anyway, so she took Osheira to the old shat. </em>
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  <em>Her husband was out fortunately, drinking with his friends in the pub, so Sara made Osheira food and gave her clothes and a place to store her coat, for she know that it was the key to freedom for the seal-people. And then Sara went to sleep, curled protectively around Osheira on her old couch.</em>
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  <em>She was woken up by wailing and shouting and it was the most terrifying sound she had ever heard. Besides her, Osheira was weeping blood, the red tears running down her cheeks, her pitch-black eyes holding unbearable sorrow. </em>
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  <em>“It has been taken,” Osheira said. Sara stood up, slowly and frightened. Her husband was sitting there, calmly and smiling. “You’ve done good, Sara,” he said. “In bringing me this seal-servant, you’ve finally done something right in your life. Maybe she will give me the child you can’t.” </em>
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  <em>“Where have you taken it?” Sara asked, with shaking voice. Her husband grinned and gestured to himself. Only now Sara saw that he wore the coat under his mantle.. Besides her, Osheira shuttered in disgust.</em>
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  <em>For four days and four nights, Osheira and Sara endured. They served and suffered. They were silent.</em>
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  <em> On the fifth day, Sara once again went to the beach to collect shells and she made her husband a necklace. </em>
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  <em>“To thank you for choosing to still care for me, even though I’m barren,” Sara said. Osheira said nothing, just watched carefully. Sara’s husband put the necklace on and wanted to sit down, when he noticed the necklace getting tighter. </em>
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  <em>“What the-“ he croaked and tried to open the necklace again. It didn’t open, instead tightening further and further. Osheira looked at Sara, at a smiling Sara, as the choking man first fell down, the necklace strangling him mercilessly, and then eventually stopped breathing. </em>
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  <em>“Good,” Osheira said, with a voice as big as the sky, as loud as the ocean. </em>
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  <em>“Come home with me?”, she asked then, for she had a home, a real one.  </em>
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  <em>“Yes,” Sara whispered and followed Osheira out of the house, out of the town, back to the sea-shore. There, Osheira offered her hand, and Sara took it and together they went into the crushing waves until eventually the sea swallowed them whole. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Johanna is slowly selling the old furniture and acquiring new one for the house that is turning into her home as well, and one day, as you sit in the kitchen and Jo asks you for a story, you pause for a second. You don’t know if you should to this, if Johanna is ready, but you want to try anyway.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Once there was a girl who lived happily in the green and beautiful forest. She loved her friends, her family and her community. She wanted to build houses when she grew up, to give others the security she had, to shelter and protect because that’s who she was – a guardian and a builder. </em>
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  <em>But the world around her was cruel and violent and she got caught in its fangs. She cried and bled until she had no more tears to shed and her body was hollow. And so, she was left there, far from her home and then the Capitol destroyed her home and murdered all those she loved.  </em>
</p><p> <em>Finally, they shattered her, gnawing hungrily at her flesh and tearing, ripping her apart. She was a guardian and a builder, but there was nothing to build anymore, because there was no one to protect.</em></p><p>
  <em>So, she rebuild herself, gave herself knuckles of iron, and a tongue out of steel and a heart out of wood and sharp teeth to match the teeth of the Capitol and protected herself. And they thought that they had broken her, because she wasn’t whole anymore. </em>
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  <em>Because they had all the power and thought that meant that nothing could bring them down. But a body of metal and wood and bone is stronger than a body out of simple flesh and bone and so she took her new body and used it to build again: community, weapons and resistance. </em>
</p><p> <em>And then they came again and drowned her, her wooden heart dragging her down, down, down. And they sent lightning through her metal limbs and pulled out her sharp teeth and shattered her again and again and again and again and again. And somehow, impossible, through it all she stayed a guardian and a builder, shielding her friends as best as she could and finally, after escaping their claws and, later, defeating them, rebuilding herself again. </em></p><p>
  <em>This time she turned into a bird, to fly away. She built big wings to carry her, and sharp eyes to spot danger and prey alike, and her heart became a fickle thing, beating ever faster. And I don’t know what happens next. I hope she becomes happy.</em>
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</p><p> </p><p>Johanna is silent for a long time. Then she turns to you and says: “I have to go.” Her words burry in your chest, shoveling your heart away and nestling between your lungs. You nod.</p><p>“Will you come back?” you ask.</p><p>“Yes,” Johanna says, and you can’t tell if she is lying.</p><p>You help her back and send her off at the station. You turn around, gather yourself and continue with your life in Four. You work, care for James, chat with the townsfolk, go to dinner at the Odairs. You write letters to Johanna that you burn because you want to tell Johanna personally.</p><p>Your overwhelming thoughts get worse, but not as much as you expected them too. You don’t know what to think of that. Ultimately, you think, it proves that you can live alone, that you aren’t dependent. That’s a good thing, although you are lonely. You make a new friend in town, and you catch up with an old acquaintance.</p><p>You go on and on and it’s alright.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Johanna stays away one week, two weeks, three weeks, four weeks. After over a month she returns, looking healthier and more grounded. She looks happier too. Johanna doesn’t talk about the time she was gone, at least not with you, but that’s alright. You know how important secrets can be.</p><p>Sometimes she writes letters now or makes phone calls. You figure out that she is talking to Haymitch again, and you urge her to invite him and his kids over sometimes.</p><p>Johanna starts opening up to you in little things: touches and comments and memories, and it means so much to you. It means a lot to you that Johanna came back, as well. It shows you that no matter what happens, Johanna will always come back to you.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Will you tell me another story?” Johanna asks one night, as you walk along the coast, with James on your back, asleep, and you want to start with another fisher’s tale, but she interrupts you. “No. Tell me your story,” she demands. You could ask what she wants with it. You could say that there’s nothing to tell. Say that there’s too much. That it’s too big or too small to put into words.</p><p>“I’ll tell you my story while we walk towards the water together,” you say instead, turning towards her. Jo swallows hard, and nervous. Then she nods. “Deal.”</p><p>And she walks towards the sea, in a straight line, with twenty shaking steps. Then she turns around and grins at you, proud and brave. You laugh and join her.</p><p>“People think they know me,” you say. “I’m the mad girl. I’m the Victor who came back wrong. I’m a widow, Finnick Odair’s widow at that. For some of them I am a storyteller. And none of these are false. But many don’t look beyond that. My father, a fisherman, died in a storm, his trawler swallowed by the sea. You’ll hear that story often, if you look around Four.</p><p>And I didn’t even know my mother. She died shortly after my birth. My dad didn’t talk about her much and I have no memories of her. I have one brother, who is seven years older and lives on the other side of Four. We don’t really talk much. We never had the closest relationship and he didn’t like how I came back from the Games.”</p><p> </p><p>You gesture to your head. The sand under your bare feet is still warm. You continue walking. “I was a Career, many forgot that after I won – although you can’t compare the training here with what happens – <em>happened –</em>in One and Two. It’s more of an extracurricular activity, with some financial support for your family. Mags helped to build it, she originally came up with the concept of Career tributes and she always hated how One and Two twisted the concept.”</p><p>You see that Johanna wants to interject and beat her to it.</p><p>“Of course it was still unfair, but the Games always are, and a lot of the fighters for the rebellion have been trained in these afternoon lessons. One day I’ll tell you more about that.”</p><p> </p><p>Johanna nods, tense. Her steps are becoming slower. You step closer to her. “Mags was kind of like my grandmother. Even before my games. She always had an open ear and she was kind and wise and radiant. When I volunteered for the Games I wasn’t afraid, just nervous.</p><p>I was eighteen, I knew what I was getting into, or at least I thought I did. I was prepared for everything, was good with weapons and strategy. I got into the Arena and everything went – well, not fine, because suddenly I had blood on my hands and saw all these other children dying – but it would have been <em>not-fine, </em>you know?</p><p>And then Paul, my district partner, died. You know how. They replayed his death a lot. They thought it looked spectacular or something. But it broke me. He and I weren’t even really close, but I knew him enough. After that my memories are blurry, blending into each other. #</p><p>Then they flooded the Arena. I’ve been swimming since I could walk. While the others were drowning one after another, I kept treading the water. Slipped under several times too, thought I’d drown right there but I didn’t. Don’t know how or why.”</p><p> </p><p>And the water isn’t far away, not in your memories and not here and you have to focus to tell both apart.</p><p> </p><p>“But that feeling,” you say, and dig your toes into the sand. “The slipping under, the water over my head, death grabbing me and dragging me down – It never really went away. I’m still drowning.” </p><p> </p><p>Less than three steps from you, the waves are dancing over the beach.</p><p>“How do you deal with it?” Johanna whispers, very small.</p><p>“I tie a lifeline of things grounding me in the present and then I try to hold on. Used to be Finnick helping me with that.”</p><p>You pause, gathering your thoughts, keeping them from flying away or blending into each other.</p><p>“You know, when we met, he was drowning himself. We saved each other, or tried to at least – he was more successful than me. He protected me and I did nothing to shield him from the Capitol. I’m glad he had you there.“</p><p> </p><p>You feel the familiar ache rising up and threatening to swallow you whole, a pain mixed with bitterness.</p><p>“But you asked about my story,” you say, because it’s true.</p><p>“We’ll tell his story. But not yet. Not, when it still hurts so much.”</p><p>You feel guilty for your words and for the fact that both of you haven’t moved one bit closer to the water in the last minutes.</p><p> </p><p>“But the important thing is that I wasn’t alone,” you say, and it’s cheesy but true.</p><p>“Take my hand?”, you ask, stepping closer to the water. Johanna hesitates, and for a moment there are worlds between you. Then she takes your hand.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You walk into the water. Johanna follows.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on tumblr @leuchtstabrebell</p></blockquote></div></div>
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